Boats Against The Current
by WritingIsReality
Summary: It was the worst time of the year. He had always hated this time of the year. Tony was alone. He always had been. Tony Stark believes he is alone in the Avengers Tower on Christmas eve. He tries to shut the building down, only to find he isn't really alone at all... Re-uploaded upon request from a very kind reviewer 3 This story is incomplete, and probably will be for a while.
1. Chapter 1

**Boats Against the Current**

 **Chapter One**

It was the worst time of year.

He had always hated this time of year.

Twinkling lights and falling snow, music in the streets and carolling at every door. He hated Christmas. He always had.

This year was no different, in fact, this year was probably worse. He had found a family in the Avengers, finally had people occupying his tower that weren't just employees and those there for business. They weren't just his comrades, they were his friends; and they all had somewhere to go during the festive season.

Tony was alone.

He always had been.

Pouring himself a glass of scotch he appraised New York City through the gargantuan windows of his penthouse. The snow fell from the sky, littering the panes like cosmic duct and the lights of the city seemed exceptionally bright. He supposed it had something to do with it being Christmas Eve.

Tony Stark took in his surroundings and decided that he just couldn't be bothered to try tonight. He didn't have it in him. He would drink until he slept and he would swathe the tower in black, vowing to make it as invisible as he so clearly was.

"JARVIS," he called.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Shut down the tower. I want everything off." He didn't need to worry about the repercussions of the shutdown. Tony had ensured that all of his employees weren't working on Christmas Eve, and they sure as hell weren't working in Christmas Day either. It was a time for family, and just because he didn't have any didn't mean that his employees had to suffer for it.

The tower was totally empty. He was the only one who occupied it and he wanted to do so in the dark, to fall asleep on his couch gazing out the window, hopefully with some alcohol buzzing in his veins.

"Sir?" JARVIS interrupted.

"Hmm?"

"I am unable to follow your order of total system shutdown of the tower."

Tony sighed, of course he would spend his Christmas Eve fighting with someone who wasn't even real. "And why ever not, _JARVIS?"_

"Because there is someone currently occupied in one of the lower levels, Sir."

"What?" Tony asked stupidly. It was late in the evening, probably nearing eleven o'clock, who in their right mind would be working in his tower at this time of night on a festive occasion? Unless…

"Is it a threat?!" Tony jumped, ready to call one of his suits if need be.

"Definitely not, Sir."

"Not?" Tony queried, his stance relaxing. "What then?"

"An employee of yours, Sir."

"Impossible, I ensured that everyone had the night off."

"As far as I can glean, Sir, she is here of her own accord."

" _She?"_

Suddenly, unbidden, a holo-image of the tower relaying the woman's location appeared in front of him.

"In case you would like to address it, _Sir."_

Tony swore he heard a smirk in his AI's voice

#*#*#*

Eventually, nosiness had won out, and Tony exited the elevator on the floor that JARVIS had specified. Her office was easy to find, given that it was the only open doorway that displayed illumination and he found himself peering around the door in the most childish way.

He was shocked when he saw her. She was young, _so_ young, but the eyes that were transfixed on the computer screen were not. They looked hardened, beautiful still, but wary in a way that spoke of having seen too much. It was difficult to get an accurate representation of her features, given the harsh glow of the computer screen, but she was obviously pale and her hair was long and thick, brown, just like his own.

She had yet to notice him, her earphones in her ears playing music that he wished he could hear. Occasionally her hand would move, that small, fragile thing would tap on the keyboard or guide the mouse, but mostly she read.

He hadn't realised how long he had been standing there, how long he had been staring, until he found himself leaning against the doorway, arms casually crossed in front his chest. He was about to say something, gain her attention or make a grand entrance when she saw him out of the corner of her eye.

The reaction was loud, uncontrolled and, frankly, completely comical. She flew out of her chair in fright, earphones ripping out of the computer and sending her toppling off balance. The poor thing tried to save herself, tried to grab anything within her reach to prevent her descent onto the floor, only she managed to grab at a stack of papers sitting on the edge of her desk, the sheets flying into the air like confetti and falling around where she now found herself sprawled on the carpet.

Shocked, she looked up at the intruder, breath halting in her chest when she realised who it was.

"Hey, there." Tony intoned, his smile devilish and his eyebrows waggling in suggestive, good humour. Her only response was to maintain her posture, her stance defensive, until, finally…

"Mr Stark," she said breathlessly.

He simply stared at her, enjoying her discomfort far too much.

"I… uhm…" She scrambled to her feet and began capturing all of the falling sheets, mumbling apologies as she did and doing everything in her power to avoid making eye contact with him.

He bent down and picked up the final sheet, coming eye-to-eye to her smirking once again, all teeth and relentless mirth.

She shot up and snatched the paper from him, returning the sheets to their rightful place on her desk as she mumbled her thanks. She stood, staring at the ground and shifted uncomfortably from foot-to-foot. Finally, she gained her courage and looked up.

"Is there something I can do for you, Mr Stark?"

"Yes, there is actually," he answered cheerily, stepping around her office and taking note of the possessions she had stashed about the place. He raised his eyebrows when he noticed the presence of some _Star Wars_ paraphernalia but chose not to acknowledge it. "You can answer a question."

Her eyes widened but she said nothing else, fearful that she was about to get in trouble.

"Why are you here?" He asked.

Clearly uncomfortable, she fidgeted where she stood and mumbled her answer. "I work here."

His eyes narrowed. " _Yes,_ but why are you hear _now?_ Late at night, on Christmas Eve?"

She looked up at him and he could tell that she was grappling with her answer, trying to decide whether she should speak the truth or not. She sighed and then shrugged her shoulders, a weak attempt at nonchalance. "It's better than being in an empty house at Christmas, I suppose. At least here I can distract myself."

He was surprised by her answer. "Don't you have family to go?"

"No."

He was going to make a sarcastic comment, maybe joke and ask if she didn't have a boyfriend to report to or some friend that she was standing up, but he could tell that he had struck a nerve; it was obvious in the sadness of her eyes that she was trying so desperately to hide. Maybe he wasn't so alone after all.

"Well," he said, cheerily, "there's no point in drinking alone since you're here."

"Wha –"

"To the penthouse!" He hollered. "Happiness and festivity awaits!" It sounded sarcastic even to his ears and he grimaced at the false cheer. Taking a more restrained approach he called to her over his shoulder.

"Come on," he said simply, making his way to her office door.

"I really shouldn't," he heard her mumble from behind him. Tony turned around and looked at her deeply. She looked so small in that office, drowning amongst the furniture and the technology, even her clothes seemed to drown her though she wore them well. She looked lost, hesitant… afraid, and so damned _young_.

"One drink," he said in earnest, his voice taking on a definitive tone of sincerity. "Please."

Tony Stark was a master manipulator, but he wasn't playing any games now. He didn't want to be alone and, maybe, he thought, she didn't really want to be alone either. He pleaded with his eyes and let the silence beat on. He could see her tension, he could see her struggle but he could also see her indecision – he had her on the ropes and all she needed was one final push.

"Please," he said again.

"Okay."

#*#*#*

He was smug, there was no denying it. The way he pranced into the elevator and held the doors open for her spoke volumes. He guessed that he was just happy. His night didn't seem to be so dreary now, even though his newly found counterpart looked like she was ready to spook at any second. She walked with as much speed and grace as a toddler taking their first steps, wringing her hands in front of her and biting her lip.

Tony guessed that 'anxious' didn't even begin to describe how she was feeling.

"You know," he said, voice careening down the corridor and causing her to jump. "I would tell you to hurry up, that Christmas is coming, but…"

It had the desired effect; she sped up her pace and quickly hopped into the elevator, leaning against the wall furthest away from him. He tried to not be offended by that.

Silence followed them as the elevator ascended, and she trailed after him out of the square box and into the penthouse. Tony smiled to himself when he heard the sharp intake of breath. The penthouse really was a sight to behold.

"Make yourself at home," he waved to her, going straight towards the bar for a much needed drink.

She took a few steps into the living area, where some couches were clustered about a coffee table and where the view of the city was the most magnificent. The young woman stood awkwardly, rubbing her arms in a self-soothing gesture and stared out the window – her awe was palpable.

"Here," Tony said, appearing behind her. He pushed a tumbler of scotch into her hand and guided her to sit.

"Oh, I… uhm… I don't drink," she said hesitantly, peering at him through her lashes as if expecting some form of wrath or reprimand."

"Suit yourself," he said simply and went to sit on the couch opposite her, lifting his feet and crossing them to rest on the coffee table. "Though I do think it would be to your benefit to at least give it a go. You're so tense I think you could give even the most qualified master masseur a run for their money."

She looked down quickly and appraised the drink in her hand. She hid behind her hair but he knows that he saw a ghost of a smile. Slowly, carefully, she brought the tumbler to her lips and took a sip. Her face screwed into a grimace when she swallowed and she coughed as the burn made its way down her throat.

"Ugh," she exclaimed, bringing the back of her hand to her mouth, eyes now watering from the burn in her chest. "That's vile."

"Hey!" Tony exclaimed, pretending to be affronted but actually enjoying the spectacle in front of him. "I'll have you know that's my best scotch."

"Oh," she said quickly, gripping the glass tightly and running a hand through her hair. "I… I'm sorry. I –"

"Relax," Tony said, letting out a smile chuckle. "What? They don't have jokes where you come from?"

"I guess not," she mumbled, bringing the tumbler to her mouth for another sip.

"Actually, where _do_ you come from?"

"All over," came her immediate reply and he couldn't help but feel that it was a somewhat rehearsed. Sensing a sore spot Tony decided to let it lie… for now.

Quickly, she looked away and appraised his bookshelf on the far wall with interest. It was miraculous, floor to ceiling, the entire wall being covered in shelving with books strewn haphazardly all over the place. She looked back at Tony quickly, eyes all but begging for permission and he waved his hand in the direction of what she considered to be a collection of national treasures.

"Go ahead."

She didn't need to be told twice.

Hesitant but eager, she rose from where she was seated on the couch and treaded silently towards the shelf – tumbler gripped tightly in her hand.

One gaze at the tombs nestled on the shelves and she was lost. He had everything on there: old books, new books, fiction, non-fiction, academic texts and even what appeared to be collectors' items. She ran her fingers across the spines until her hand stopped abruptly, one title easily having caught her eye.

She set her tumbler down and pulled the book from its place, an original copy of "Le Petit Prince" written by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. She smiled longingly and flipped the cover, gasping at what she found written on the first page:

 _Pour Howard,_

 _Merci pour tout._

 _Ton ami,_

 _Antoine de Saint-Exupéry_

The author's elaborate signature lay beneath the short excerpt and she ran her fingertips over it, disbelief that this was physically written by one of her favourite authors.

"Take it," she jumped when she heard his voice, right behind her as he watched her cautiously.

"I couldn't –"

"Sure you could, all you have to do is make sure it goes with you when you walk out the door. See? Easy."

"But… it's addressed to your father-"

"Take it or leave it. The choice is yours."

Carefully, she put the book back, right where it was meant to be on the shelf. She could never take such a precious item from someone's possession – especially when it was obviously so personal. She grabbed her drink and looked up, finding Tony watching her.

This time, when she brought the tumbler to her lips it wasn't for a sip; she gulped the amber liquid down like a student on a dare at a frat party. Normally, he would express his displeasure at having such fine liquor squandered like that with no appreciation for taste, but he was relieved that the tension that had been built up had been abated. He also thought to himself that things might just get interesting if she kept on like that, so he decided to refill her glass as soon as it was empty.

Things certainly did get interesting after that.

*#*#*#

It only took about an hour for them to degenerate into a drunken, childish, laughing mess – or maybe he was the drunken, childish, laughing mess but she had certainly had her fill; a fact easily seen in the flush of her cheeks and the more relaxed stance.

Tony had challenged her to a game of pool, she had tried to refuse, he had coerced her and now they found themselves playing their third game – and he was losing spectacularly.

"How are you so good at this?" Tony asked as she sunk the eight ball, a slight hint of annoyance tainting his voice.

"Beginners luck I guess." But her smirk completely belied the answer.

He pulled a face, a petulant scrunching of his nose and upturn of his mouth that gave him a look of total disgust. Unfortunately, she only noticed his expression as she took another mouthful of scotch, snorting on her laughter and all but choking on the liquid as some of it spurted from her lips.

She clapped her hand over her mouth in horror, her eyes wide and her face flushing even redder than it was before. It was silent for a beat, then two, and then the two of them suddenly exploded into fits of laughter.

She couldn't believe what she had done. She had made a total fool of herself and in front of Tony Stark no less. Thankfully, he appeared too drunk to care, finding humour in her debacle rather than judgement.

"That'll clear your sinuses," he choked out and the two of them started laughing all over again.

"Please," she whispered, breathless from laughter and stomach aching. "Pretend that never happened."

"Absolutely not!"

She groaned but gave him a smile. "I wish there had been music playing or something so that you wouldn't have heard it." Her hand came to rest on her forehead and she shook it in disbelief, humiliated by her faux pas.

" _That_ is a very good point! Why is there no music?" He looked at her like she knew the answer, like it was in her control whether there was music or not.

"I don't know. It's your building. It's your apartment. You're the one who decides whether there's music or not."

"You say that like I'm God."

"Well in this building you are."

Tony threw a smile her way as he walked over to the system. "Can't argue with that," he said simply," and then switched the system on to whatever radio frequency it was channelled to.

Loud and obnoxious Christmas carols blared cheerily from the impressive system in the apartment and the two of them groaned audibly; Tony hastening to switch the system back off before glaring at it in distaste.

"There is a _reason_ why I avoid Rockefeller Centre at this time of year."

"It can be that bad surely?" She chuckled, sipping from her tumbler.

"Of course it's that bad. You live in the city; you know what it's like."

Guiltily she chewed her lip and looked down at the expensive carpet beneath her feet.

"Wait a minute; you've never been to Rockefeller Centre?"

She shrugged, shuffling nervously from foot-to-foot.

"Like, _ever?_ " He asked incredulously.

"I guess I just never found the time," she said, smiling sheepishly.

Tony brought his fingers to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, contemplating. He was probably going to regret this.

"Get your coat."

"What?" She asked in surprise.

"I said get your coat, we're going to Rockefeller Centre."

She gaped it him quizzically. Unfortunately, she had learned enough in the last few hours to know that she was not going to be able to speak him out of something like this once his mind had been made up.

"I don't have a coat."

"What do you mean you don't have a coat?"

"Aren't you supposed to be some sort of a genius or something? I mean what I mean. I don't have a coat."

"Whatever," he said, striding towards what she assumed to be a closet by the door. "You can have one of mine," and he threw one at her where she stood across the room, hitting her square in the face.

" _Ow,"_ she exclaimed, but there was no mirth behind it. Truthfully, she was excited to be going to Rockefeller Centre. She was excited for what else this night had to bring.

When she next looked up she saw him at the bar once again, only this time he was pouring his scotch into a hip flask with a devious, shit-eating grin on his face.

"Are you _serious?_ " She intoned, disbelieving yet totally unsurprised all at the same time.

"What?" He asked in mock innocence, capping the flask and putting it in his pocket. "It's cold outside; we have to keep warm somehow."

"Isn't it past time you behaved like a mature adult?" She joked, following him to the elevator and walking inside when he kept the doors open for her.

"Oh honey. If you knew me well enough you would know that I'm not a mature _anything."_

She couldn't help but giggle at that one.

#*#*#*

The walk to Rockefellar Centre ensured the continuation of their shenanigans. Tony couldn't seem to take more than five steps without drinking from his hip flask, and he ensured that she matched him one-to-one whenever he did.

"Keep on like that and you'll find me passed out in a ditch on Christmas morning," she laughed, feeling warm from liquor and laughter despite the freeze of the air.

He snorted. "Been there, done that. It's about as much fun as you would imagine it to be."

"It doesn't sound fun at all."

"Exactly."

They continued on and made their way cheerily. Sometimes there was silence and sometimes there was raucous laughter, but either way the darkness of the night didn't seem so terrifying, the loneliness of a Christmas spent in isolation did not exist. Tony smiled to himself. For the first time in a long time he was happy. He was content, and it certainly helped that he wasn't getting admonished for his bad behaviour for a change. He smiled broadly at that thought and was so caught up in the notion that he didn't immediately notice that his counterpart was no longer at his side.

He turned quickly and saw her standing a few paces behind him. Her face was pressed dangerously close to a shop window and in its reflection he noticed tear-filled eyes.

"What is it?" He asked, backtracking to stand behind her.

"It's nothing," she said, though she was unable to tear her gaze away from a certain piece of jewellery – a locket that looked to be far older than either of them were. "I just didn't think that it would still be here."

He furrowed his brows in confusion and looked up to appraise the name of the shop. It turned out to be one of New York City's more reputable pawn shops.

"Whatever," she said quickly and took the flask from his hand, taking a larger than necessary swig. She then spun on her heel and determinedly walked away, not once looking back. Tony stole one last glance at the item in the window before he turned away and caught up with her.

"Easy, easy," he said when he reached her side, grabbing the flask from her hand as she gulped down its contents desperately. Tony easily masked the action with humour and a wink. "Can't have you out mastering the master now can we?"

She rolled her eyes at him and smiled – all traces of her earlier tension gone.

It seemed as though they happened upon Rockefeller Centre suddenly after that, though the slight wobble that modified each of their steps spoke otherwise. The young woman was blowing into her hands, breathing life into numb fingers when she looked up and saw it – stopping dead in her tracks and gazing up at the mighty tree; monumental in its size alone.

Tony watched her with interest and a certain element of fondness – though he would only realise it later. The tree was a colossus, and every possible branch and bramble jutting out of its base was covered with some or other Christmas decoration or bit lighting. It stood tall above the famous ice rink, the ambience of the twinkling lights reflecting on the icy surface

Personally, Tony found the entire thing to be extremely ostentatious and obnoxious; though he supposed that made him a complete hypocrite, given that everything he did was ostentatious and obnoxious.

His younger counterpart appeared to be mystified, enamoured and awed at the sight before her. The lights danced and reflected in her hair and her eyes; her pale skin blending with the snow to the point where she took on an ethereal and mystical quality.

Tony really wanted to kiss her.

It was only now that the thought formulated itself in his mind that he realised how lonely he had been for the last few years. He hadn't kissed anyone since Afghanistan. Just imagine what the press would have to say about that one: "'Playboy' Tony Stark – billionaire extraordinaire who hasn't been kissed in at least four years." What a winning headline.

As much as he wished that it was in his control he just couldn't help it. Things had changed when he had endured what he fondly referred to as the 'kidnapping/torture/hostage' debacle. His life had changed. _He_ had changed; though very few people seemed to realise it.

The young woman puffed out a sigh and wrapped her arms around herself, the cold finally getting the better of her. She turned and thanked him for bringing her here. Thanked him for helping her see the iconic beauty of the city that she lived in.

Her nose was red from cold and her cheeks were flushed. He really, _really_ wanted to kiss her. But he wasn't like that anymore. People deserved better. _She_ deserved better. She wasn't one-night stand material – she was hold fast and never let go material. He liked to think that he deserved better than fleeting flings as well. Tony Stark would never admit to it, but he wanted something genuine. Something that was real. Anything else was simply a waste of time.

"Alright," she said, pulling him from his reverie. "It's time to call it. I'm going to lose a limb to frostbite if I don't get indoors soon." She turned to him fully and gave him a genuine but shy smile. "Thank you for everything, Mr Stark. It was really wonderful." She nodded friendlily to him and turned to walk away.

"Where are you going?" He asked her retreating back.

"Home?"

"Yes. I got that, but where is home? I'll walk you."

She smiled at him sadly. "It'll be quite the walk, Mr Stark."

"I can't just let you walk around New York City alone so late at night."

"Technically, it's very early in the morning."

"That's even worse," he said. He wasn't trying to be cocky. He wasn't trying to 'go back to her place'. He was legitimately concerned for her well-being and couldn't, in good conscience, let her traipse through the city in the early hours of Christmas Day, half drunk and practically screaming 'easy target'.

"I'll walk you home," he said resolutely. "I don't care how far it is".

"You're willing to walk nine miles?" She laughed.

He gaped at her. " _You're_ willing to walk nine miles? Where in holy hell do you live?"

"Well, I was going to take the subway part of the way there..."

"You are _not_ taking the subway at this time of night."

"Morning."

He glared at her. "I'll have one of my cars drop you off."

"Uh-uh," she said, shaking her head. "The last thing I need is one of _your_ expensive cars driving me through my neighbourhood and placing a glaring, neon target on my back."

"What exactly is your neighbourhood?"

Her eyes narrowed and her cheeks flushed, not from the frigid air that suddenly seemed so much thicker, but from embarrassment.

"Look," Tony said. "It's late –"

"Early-"

"It's late, we're drunk and it's Christmas Day. It's not safe for you to walk… catch a train… whatever it is that you plan to do to get to wherever the hell you live that's nine miles away. Come back to the tower with me. Please."

She took a step back from him. "I –"

"I'm not propositioning you," he amended quickly. It would appear that his reputation preceded him. "It's an invitation and it's also a request. Please. I won't have any peace of mind otherwise, and you'll end up with me tailing you the entire way home if you choose to go now."

"You really are used to getting your way aren't you?"

He kicked some of the snow beneath his foot and relished the crunch before he answered her. "I'm not doing this for me. Well, not entirely." And there it was; that shit-eating grin.

It had been a long time since someone had cared for her well-being like this. In fact, Tony Stark was probably the only person who had cared for her well-being like this in her entire life.

She looked at him and she contemplated. He looked at her with the utmost sincerity and concern in his features. He wanted her to be safe. That thought warmed her from the inside out.

"Okay," she said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

She'd left early on Christmas Day with nothing betraying her presence but a slightly creased guest bed and some condensation in the bathroom. Tony wasn't at all surprised. He had expected as much and didn't take offense to the disappearance; no doubt her awkwardness and self-deprecation rose when the sun did. He decided, however, that this wasn't going to be the last that he saw of her. She'd stirred something in him that he hadn't felt in years, and he was far too selfish and far too desperate to just let it go.

Tony programmed his AI system to allow her access throughout the tower and he waited. Though meant with the utmost sincerity and good intention, he knew that his recent gift to her wouldn't go down well. He couldn't help himself though. She clearly needed the extra assistance and Tony was nothing if not a philanthropist...

*#*#*#

It was not even a few days later when the elevator to his penthouse _dinged_ and dainty feet stepped out – the tread resolute and angry. He took a sip of the scotch he was nursing and smiled, looking out the large windows and waiting for her to come to him.

"What is _this?_ " She demanded. He turned around in completely faked surprise and appraised her.

"Ah!" He exclaimed. "If it isn't my favourite employee; I was wondering when you'd come back. Here sit down. Have a drink."

"What is this?"

Tony watched, amused, as she marched forward and waved a document under his nose.

"Why, I do believe that is a piece of paper," he smirked, flashing his teeth into a feral smile.

"Don't be cute," she snapped.

"I have to say," Tony drawled, "I've never seen someone quite this upset over a Christmas bonus before."

The young woman gaped at him. "I don't think anyone in the entire world has ever received a Christmas bonus that has added six zeros to their bank account.

"Well aren't you lucky! You're the first person in the world then! Don't you feel special?"

She placed her fingers on her temples, massaging as if she were attempting to stave off a particularly debilitating migraine.

"Mr Stark –"

"Tony."

"You know as well as I do that I can't accept this. Now please provide me with your banking details so that I can wire it back."

"Sorry, that information's classified."

She glared at him. "You can't do this. You can't just do something like this and expect –"

"Weren't you ever taught how to gracefully accept a gift?"

"This isn't a gift! This is insanity! I can't have someone holding something like this over me."

"No one's holding anything over you."

"You are!"

"No I'm not. You have some money, now go have spending it."

"And if things turn sour?"

He furrowed his brows then. "What do you mean?"

"If things go sour! If I piss you off? If I leave Stark Industries? If I make a mistake? I sure as hell can't afford to pay something like this back!

"I would never ask you to pay it back," he deadpanned, seemingly to be genuinely offended.

"Yes you would! Nothing in this world ever comes for free. Money like this isn't just given without some ulterior motive."

"Whoa, okay, time out. We're not doing this; we're not making this into something it's not – or questioning my character. It's a gift. Nothing more, nothing less. I don't expect anything from you and I would never hold something like this over anyone, least of all someone like you."

She pinched the bridge on her nose. "Mr Stark –"

"Tony."

"This is absurd. I can't –"

"I got something for you."

He turned around before she could respond and walked to the coffee table. A small, leather box lay atop it. Tony picked it up and held it out to her.

"I'm not taking that."

He huffed in irritation and came to stand before her, towering over her somewhat. He didn't fail to notice her hesitant step backwards and the way her breathing sped up.

"Please," he said, ignoring her reaction. "Take it."

She looked at him fearfully and he sighed. He reached down and took her hand, turning her palm upwards and placing the box in the grasp.

"Open it."

She looked at him uncertainly but did as he asked. Her breath stuttered in her throat and halted in her chest. Cushioned against the velvet of the interior was a dainty locket on a delicate gold chain – the same item of jewellery that they'd seen during their night time shenanigans to Rockefeller Centre.

"I don't know why you pawned it, but I know it was special to you."

She looked up to him with tear-filled eyes and he faltered. This wasn't the reaction he had been expecting and he chewed his lip nervously at the turn of events. Crying and distressed women were _not_ his forte.

"Are you okay?"

"I can't do this," she gasped, stricken and on the verge of hyperventilating. "I'm sorry, I can't."

The tears spilled from her eyes and she turned to make her escape. Shocked as he was, Tony made no move to stop her. As if from a distance he once again heard the _ding_ of the elevator, signalling her departure.

The doors had closed on her as she had put her head in her hands and he had stood there, dumbfounded.

He thought that he had done kind thing.

He felt like a total asshole.

*#*#*#

Though Tony Stark would never admit to it, he had been up the entire night distracting himself in his workshop. He didn't have anything in particular that he needed to get done; he just didn't want to go to sleep. The memory of tears spilling from crystalline blue eyes haunted him, and he was disturbed by what had happened.

He steeled himself for what needed to be done. Tony Stark hated apologising to people, but he wasn't above apologising when he knew he had messed up, and he had messed up with her. _Big time._

Tactfully, he waited until the following afternoon to make his move, asking JARVIS to send the young woman a message asking her to come to the penthouse for a meeting. He would have gone down to her office himself, but the presence of Tony Stark in the dregs of the tower would have drawn its fair share of attention and he didn't want to embarrass her more than he had already.

"Excuse me, Sir?"

"Yes JARVIS."

"I have been unable to follow through with your request to contact Miss –"

"What's the problem JARVIS?"

"Unfortunately, she has not reported to work today. Her supervisor is aware." Tony's blood ran cold and he froze, petrified that his actions yesterday had caused her to resign, to run away.

"According to your employees' leave records; she requested to take leave on this day to attend a funeral."

 _Oh,_ Tony thought, relieved that she hadn't resigned and then immediately disgusted with himself for being thankful that she was at someone's funeral. But wait, she'd said she had no family…

"JARVIS, who's funeral is she attending?" There was a brief pause before his AI spoke.

"Would that information not be a breach of confidentiality, Sir?" Tony reflected on the truth of JARVIS's statement. It definitely was a breach of confidentiality. It was a total invasion of privacy. But he was worried, and nosiness won out in the end.

"Just answer the question JARVIS."

"That information hasn't been made available to Stark Industries' database; however, through analysis of her personal accounts it would appear that she is attending the funeral of her neighbour who lives in the same apartment complex."

The answer would have been satisfactory, except for the slight tapering off of JARVIS's intonation at the end of his statement. Tony felt a flash of pride at how well he had programmed his AI. He seemed to be more human than most of the people currently in the building.

"What are you withholding JARVIS?"

"Sir, I do believe that this is an issue better discussed with Miss –"

"JARVIS." There was an extended silence, as if his AI was wrestling with his conscience in providing the information. Tony gritted his teeth. He needed to do some serious reprogramming if –

An image flashed before him as a well pixelated hologram. It was a newspaper article with a headline that screamed about a gruesome murder. Upon reading the article, Tony learned that an elderly woman had been murdered in her apartment in what was described as a "senseless act of violence." Her life was taken because a couple of petty criminals wanted her jewellery and the small amount of cash that she had on her. Tony felt his heart rate accelerate as he read on; details on the crime making him feel ashen. His pulse stuttered to a halt when he read that the apartment complex was located in Hunt's Point, the Bronx.

 _Fantastic,_ he mused. _Bloody fantastic._ This young woman who he had become irrevocably emotionally invested in lived in an industrial epicentre that was the murder capital of New York.

He put his head in his hands and released a long suffering sigh. She clearly had no notion of self-preservation if she had been intending on taking the subway and then _walking_ home in the early hours of Christmas morning. Tony knew it wasn't stupidity. The way she carried herself and behaved spoke of a difficult childhood had that morphed into young adulthood. She was very clearly stuck in a reality that she was ashamed of, but she was also fiercely independent. She had probably worked herself to the bone to get to where she as now and he certainly would never take that away from her or undermine that fact.

But he couldn't let her keep living in a place where her safety was at risk. It just wouldn't do. It just wouldn't do at all.

*#*#*#

She sighed as she trudged up the rickety stairs and made her way to her apartment. There was a frigid draft that followed her around each corner and the damp was particularly bad – probably because it was bucketing with rain outside.

She wrapped her coat tighter around herself. The funeral had been awful; so sad and so tragic. The elderly woman next door had always been kind to her. She often got invited over for tea and would be offered dinner on many an occasion. The young woman had been working late when it had happened. She doubted the guilt would ever leave her.

Reaching the foot of the stairs she froze just outside her apartment door. It was ajar and the light inside was on. Fear, cold and determined clutched her bones. Perhaps they had returned? Perhaps she was next?

She walked in anyway.

"Are you _serious?_ " His angry voice greeted her as soon as she passed through the threshold. He looked livid.

"Your next door neighbour gets _murdered_ in cold blood and your first reaction when seeing forced entry into your apartment is to just waltz in? Ever heard of calling the police?"

She sighed tiredly and put her bag down on the table in the centre of the room. Today had been emotionally gruelling and she didn't have the strength to contend with him, or the confrontation he seemed so determined to have.

"I'm tired," she said.

"Me too," he replied, "of your recklessness."

She rolled her eyes and shrugged off her coat. "You telling me that I'm reckless is about as ironic as if you told me to stop drinking."

He glared at her but didn't engage. That comment was meant as a verbal slap and it almost hit home. Almost.

The locket he had given her swayed against her neck as she removed her coat and he felt smug at the sight; it also brought him back to what resulted in him being here in the first place.

"I wanted to apologise," he said, the words clearly grating against his ego. "I upset you and that wasn't my intention."

"It's fine," she replied, and then held the door further open for him as an invitation for him to leave. She was tired and she was embarrassed and she could hardly stand to so much as look him in the eye.

"We're not finished here."

"Mr Stark –"

"Tony."

She looked at him in exasperation and he actually felt bad. Exhaustion clouded her eyes and she looked unsteady on her feet. The emotional toll was clearly having an adverse effect on her and he guessed the fear of now living in such a vulnerable apartment wasn't helping at all.

"I want you to come stay at the tower," he blurted out.

She looked at him incredulously. "You're joking right?"

"I know I have a reputation for being a smart-ass and a know-it-all but believe me when I say I am being completely serious right now. What other motive would I have for trekking it all the way out here?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe to see how us mere mortals live? To see how us lowly peasants slum it on a daily basis?"

"You're really mean when you're tired."

She sighed in defeat. Clearly the 'bitch' approach wasn't working.

"Please leave," she pleaded.

"I can't," he choked out, becoming emotional for reasons not even he could fathom. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you stay here."

Her gaze was sympathetic when she replied. "It's not up to you."

"Don't make me be that guy."

"What guy?"

"The guy who disables your car so you can't drive anywhere. The guy who forbids you from seeing your friends. You know, the guy called Edward who –"

"Are you referencing _Twilight_?!"

Tony looked at her sheepishly and scuffed his boot against the musty floor. His mouth motored away from him again. "I mean," he looked up, "I wanted to know what all the fanfare was about."

"So you read _Twilight_?"

"I read _Twilight_."

There was a beat of silence and then she burst out laughing, wails that probably bordered on hysterical if you listened hard enough.

He smirked and was proud of himself for being able to change the atmosphere and lighten the mood. This also allowed him the perfect opportunity to acknowledge the only decoration and majority furnishing of the apartment.

"So, you like reading eh?" He queried and then looked about the room that was filled with books. Stacks and stacks, all piled together on the floor in neat towers that all seemed to lean a bit precariously. There was so much binding and paper in the tiny room that even he felt overwhelmed by the clutter.

"You do know there are tablets and eReaders available for purchase right."

She smiled lightly at him. "I like the real thing. Nothing beats holding a book, smelling the paper, turning the pages. Sometimes technology isn't always as amazing as people make it out to be."

He couldn't decide if she was ribbing him subtly. But her smile seemed genuine and her stance was relaxed so he guessed it was a simple statement; an indication of preference.

Tony beseeched her with his eyes and her smile faltered. "I can't live at the tower."

" _Why?_ "

"It's like I said yesterday. I can't be indebted to someone. I can't risk the repercussions."

"There are no repercussions. There will be if you keep living here though."

"And what if things go sour?"

He rolled his eyes. "You said that already yesterday."

"It still holds true. What's to stop you from kicking me out with nowhere to go if you decide that my presence no longer suits you?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that you have some serious trust issues?"

"Mr Stark –"

"Tony."

She paused, "Tony. Can you at least view this from my perspective? Can you at least try and see how insecure this entire situation makes me, how vulnerable it makes me?"

"You're more vulnerable sitting here waiting to get attacked," he snapped. But he did see where she was coming from. He understood what she was saying. It was a lot to rely on someone, especially someone who was pretty much a total stranger. He had an inkling that she had never been able to rely on anyone before, or perhaps she had learned not to…

"I'll strike a deal with you," he said.

He took her silence as an ascent to continue and so he did. "You need to buy yourself a new apartment, in an area that's a bit more reputable than this one. Even you know this much" She glared at him but otherwise said nothing. "House hunting takes some time. Stay at the tower until you find something and don't sell this place until you have to. That way, you have the security in knowing that you have somewhere to go if things turn, how did you say it, "sour"?"

He saw her conflict, saw her resolve fluttering and knew that he had to seal the deal. "You won't have to pay any living expenses, which means you can save up money, your _own_ money, to buy yourself a decent place to stay. Sound fair?"

"Why are you doing this? You didn't even know I worked in your company up until a few days ago."

He appraised her and considered her question. The truth was that he didn't have an answer for her – because he didn't know the answer himself. It was something that he knew he needed to contemplate and reflect on, but now wasn't the time.

"Pack what you need for tonight and my people will come for the rest tomorrow. The car is waiting outside."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The young woman found herself, not for the first time, cursing Tony Stark.

Hobbling towards her office, she glared at anyone who dared look her in the eye and attempted to walk with us much dignity as she could muster… which wasn't much, considering that she was walking through her workplace barefoot and possibly taking on the persona of Blackbeard.

When she arrived at her small office space she hastily gathered up her things and trudged back down the corridor, the ridiculously high stilettos that had caused all of this in the first place dangling in her grasp.

It wasn't bad enough that she'd had to endure a torturously awkward car drive from the Bronx to Manhattan with Tony Stark the previous night, but now she was also living on his premises, pining for the breakfast she'd had to forgo this morning and was walking around like a horse who had gone lame. Her life had been perfectly boring before what she now deemed to be the "Christmas Eve Incident", and she was still completely at odds and totally confused as to what Tony Stark's intentions truly were. If she has learned anything so far in her experiences of life, it's that it's rarely ever fair and _nothing_ ever comes for free.

She limped toward the private elevator that would take her to the living area further above in the tower and typed in the access code which had been relayed to her last night. Honestly, she was surprised that it actually worked; she was still struggling to believe that this was her reality.

Closing her eyes, she counted the seconds that passed and attempted to regulate her breathing, willing the pain in her foot to cease. She was tired and sore and hungry. It was past lunchtime and she hadn't eaten anything since the previous evening. Some ice on her foot and some food in her stomach would be akin to nirvana for her and she could have cried with joy when the elevator _dinged_ its rival. However, her relief was short-lived when the doors opened to reveal the man that she had been thinking about only moments earlier.

Both her temper and her restraint were in short fall and she sighed dejectedly when she saw him and moved to get inside the elevator.

"Rude," Tony said. "I'm not used to that kind of reaction, people love me."

She sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"What's eating you up? Who do I have to fire for ruining your day?"

"You," she hissed.

"Me?!" He asked, totally affronted. "What did I do to induce your wrath?"

"This!" She yelled, waving the ridiculously high heels in his face.

"I… what? How are heinously designed black patented stilettoes my fault?"

The young woman gaped at him incredulously. " _Your_ company's dress-code!"

Tony Stark furrowed his eyebrows in confusion but, wisely, said nothing. He had no idea what was going on but he knew enough about women to know not to poke them with a stick when they were really angry…

"I got called into a meeting with one of your hot-shot clients and my superior refused to let me go until I "adhered to the dress code" and wore heels, which is apparently what all your female employees are supposed to wear. You _chauvinist!_ There's a reason why I don't wear this… this… this _shit!_ It's impractical, it's painful and it's _dangerous!_ I'm hobbling around here like Quasimodo and you… you're smiling. So I suppose you think you're hilarious? Spraining my ankle at work and looking like a total moron in front of my colleagues is funny, right?"

"Is this a trick question? I'm pretty sure this is a trick question."

She sighed audibly and lent back against the elevator wall. The pain from her foot had somehow managed to migrate to her head in the last few moments and she closed her eyes from the harsh light of the elevator in a feeble attempt at staving off her impending migraine.

Vaguely, she was aware of Tony Stark's chatter in the background, nervous attempts at humour and banter. She furrowed her brows and acknowledged the ringing in her ears that kept growing louder. She tried to breathe in as deeply as she could but it was no use, the heat flared through her body and she realised she was about to faint right before it happened.

"I –'' she tried to warn him, but the heels dropped from her hands and her knees buckled beneath her, resulting in a particularly nasty bump to her head when she hit the elevator wall on the way down. Thankfully, the floor was unable to inflict any further pain upon her as she was grabbed at the last minute by a very shocked and a very anxious billionaire.

"JARVIS!" She heard him yell, but the conversation that followed was white noise in her delirium. Tony hoisted her up into his arms as he exited the elevator.

"You do know you're supposed to let the person lie down when they faint," she groused, squeezing her eyes shut as she attempted to stave off the inevitable nausea.

"And leave you curled up on the elevator floor? Despite what the tabloids like to say, I do actually know how to treat women."

She snorted humorously and attempted a weak smile. Encouraged by her response he continued.

"However, it probably would have been worth my while to have left you there if I could have guaranteed seeing someone's face when they found you."

"You're all heart, Mr Stark."

"Tony."

"Hmmm."

JARVIS's voice reigned above her, talking about blood pressure being 85/60 or something like that. She wasn't really concentrating but sighed with relief when she was gently deposited on a couch – surprisingly in her own living space in the tower.

Tony could be heard opening and closing cupboards in the kitchen area in a very loud and irritable manner, muttering under his breath agitatedly before giving up and looking in her direction incredulously. "You do realise that human beings need food to survive, right?"

"You do realise that I only arrived here last night, right?"

"Fair point." And he suddenly felt overwhelmingly stupid. How could he have forgotten to have something as crucial as food delivered and stocked into her living area? He would have to rectify that immediately.

"What are you doing?" He snapped, marching over to her when he noticed that she was attempting to sit up from the couch.

"Water," she mumbled.

He pushed her back down into a supine position and went to the kitchen to fill a glass of water from the sink. When he turned around she was trying to sit up again.

"Will you _stop?"_ He hissed and clamped a hand down on her shoulder.

"Don't _touch_ me!"

Tony recoiled and then raised his hands to his chest in both a placating and somewhat defensive stance. She put her head in her hands and sighed tiredly.

"Sorry," she mumbled and took the glass when it was offered to her.

Tony seated himself on the couch opposite and they sat in silence while she drank the glass finished. She looked to be contemplating something while she stared through the rim of her glass and his eyes narrowed when he saw her reach a decision.

Before he knew what was happening she had gotten up and was making her way back towards the elevator.

"Where are you going?"

She looked over her shoulder and answered in a way that suggested that it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Back to work."

"That's out of the question."

"Can't be."

"What?"

"It can't be out of the question when there isn't one to begin with. Besides, there is far too much that still needs to get done."

By this point she had reached the elevator and he all but stormed in after her to keep the doors from closing.

"Take the day off," he snapped.

"I can't! I –"

"I'm the boss and I say you can so you can."

She ground her teeth together and attempted to pry his hand from the door.

"Let go!"

"You can't go back to work today. You look terrible."

She gaped at him ferociously. "Wow, way to get to a girl's heart Mr Stark."

"For the love of Christ stop calling me Mr Stark and stop being so irrational about this! You're sick. Take sick leave, eat something, sleep it off and start again tomorrow."

"The deal needs to be closed by twelve tonight so that's not actually an option."

He sighed in exasperation and got in the elevator, letting the doors close and pushing the button that would take them to her work floor.

She looked down at her bare feet self-consciously and remembered that her flats were in her office. Thankfully that was exactly where she was headed and decided to leave the stupid heels on the floor of the elevator where they belonged. Someone else could deal with it at a later stage because frankly just the sight of them disgusted her.

When they reached her floor she murmured a hasty goodbye to Tony by way of parting and jumped out. She hobbled in the direction of her office, trying her best to ignore the judgemental glances of her colleagues – which was made sorely impossible thanks to what she now recognised as Tony Stark's footsteps behind her.

"What are you _doing?"_ She hissed.

He simply smiled mischievously at her and continued on to her office. She trailed behind him and tried to make sense of the situation, deciding that she actually didn't care when her foot began to throb more intensely. She rounded the corner into her office and began gathering up her shoes and placing them on her feet. She sighed heavily and prepared to address the situation of Tony Stark hanging about her office before her supervisor stormed in.

"Where have you been?" The woman boomed, red-faced and only noticing Tony Stark after her outburst. "Mr Stark," she stammered, eyes wide, "I –"

"Nice shoes," Tony interrupted, he glared at her when he noticed her decidedly informal and _flat_ choice of footwear; there is nothing Tony Stark hates more than people in positions of power who abuse their status.

"I –"

"Your colleague is taking the rest of the day off," he snapped. "Your little power trip resulted in a sprained ankle."

She gaped at him and then nodded dumbly.

"Glad it's settled," he replied haughtily and gave her a look of barely veiled disgust.

The room became decidedly tense and the young woman swallowed thickly. Her supervisor was looking between her and Tony Stark as if she were watching a tennis match; suspicion flaring in her narrowed eyes.

"Mr Stark –'' came a weak protest from the corner of the room.

"No," he growled. His irritation was palpable and her protest died on her lips when he raised his hand in a gesture that broached no argument. "Get your things and then get out of here; I'm sure your _supervisor_ is more than capable of closing the deal by herself," he turned and glared at her. "Am I right?"

"Y-yes, Sir."

"Good." And just like that, his entire demeanour changed and he was back to his quirky and snarky self.

The young woman grabbed her bag hurriedly and raced past both Tony and her supervisor. The tension was far too palpable and she _hated_ conflict. She tried her best to race back to the elevator to escape the situation in its entirety, but the stares she was receiving yet again told her that Tony Stark was right behind. Before she could think about the action, she whirled around and got right in his face.

"I already have a shadow," she hissed.

He jumped back in surprise but quickly smiled once he had recovered; he loved riling her up and he had absolutely no idea why.

"I'm aware," he drawled.

She huffed and stormed to the elevator. He appraised the room around him and noticed the stares that their little drama had induced. Naturally, he flashed the cockiest grin that he could manage and strode to the elevator after her. He had no doubt that he had just instigated possibly the juiciest gossip that his company had ever seen.

He anticipated a boiling silence when the elevator doors closed behind him but his younger counterpart surprised him yet again and turned to face him.

"You can't do this," she said simply.

"Do what?"

"Give me preferential treatment."

His eyebrows shot towards his hairline. He was about to argue with her, deny her statement to be true, perhaps even laugh it off; but then he considered her assertion and found it to be veritable. He _was_ giving her preferential treatment, but he just couldn't help himself.

The young woman sighed and looked away; at least he appeared to be considering what she had said.

The _ding_ of the elevator brought them out of their individual reveries and she was completely unsurprised that he exited the elevator with her and walked into her apartment. Clearly, Tony Stark had time to burn; why he would want to spend it with her was another matter entirely.

"Please," she intoned, "make yourself at home."

She disappeared into her room and didn't see the amusement glittering in his eyes.

 _Well,_ he thought, _since I have permission…_

He fell back onto her couch, well, his couch, like a surly teenager and decided to wait for her. As he had discovered earlier, there was no food in her apartment and she needed to eat. Tony decided that he would ask her what she wanted to eat and then make sure that she got it – no matter what it was.

The minutes ticked past, however, and he found himself growing impatient and then concerned.

"You know," he called, "it's rude to keep your guests waiting."

His anxiety piqued when there was no response and he decided to go check her room; to hell with manners, most people reckoned that he didn't have them anyway.

Expecting the worst, he stuttered to a halt when he rounded the corner and found her sitting calmly on her bed. His relief was palpable, but his worry returned when he noticed that she was crying and clutching a book desperately to her chest. This prompted him to apprise the rest of the room and he observed that his people had brought all of her belongings from her apartment like he had asked them to. Every book she owned was cluttered against the far wall; hardly neat but certainly in the order that she had had them in.

Tony looked back at her in confusion. He was about to ask her what could possibly be wrong when she spoke.

"I don't know what to do with this."

"With what?"

She looked at him quickly and then at the books lining the wall. Her face was damp and she clutched the book to her chest even tighter. " _This,"_ she said and nodded at the wall.

Tony scratched the back of his neck in discomfort and tried to figure out what was going on; he was very clearly missing the point…

"Um," he mumbled, "I don't think it takes a genius to know that you _read_ them."

His younger counterpart narrowed her eyes in a vicious glare and he knew he had said the wrong thing. Tony scrambled to remedy his stupidity, but he was at a total loss and felt completely out of his depth with the situation – mainly because he had no idea what was going on. He noticed that the book she was holding was his copy, or his father's copy, of _Le Petit Prince._ He had instructed one of his men to place it with her other books once they had been moved to her room – there was something special for her about that particular tale and anyone with eyes could have seen the desire in hers when she had held it on Christmas Eve. She had worried about its sentimental value; that it was personalised for Tony's father; but he was glad to be rid of yet another reminder of his tarnished paternal heritage. If he could make someone happy in the disposal of this reminder, then all the better for him.

"I'm glad you like it," he said finally and gestured to the book tightly clasped in her arms.

She looked at him and all he saw was desperation; a confusion and a loss that spoke volumes. "I don't know what to do with this," her voice cracked.

And suddenly, he knew what this was all about. Tony didn't have even one iota of an idea what her story was, what her past held, but it was obvious enough from careful observation that it hadn't been good and it hadn't been easy. The simple fact of the matter was that she wasn't used to being given things; she wasn't used to kindness. The thought saddened him more than he contemplated a thought ever could.

"You don't have to do anything," came his reply, confident and resolute. "You accept it for the gift that it is and you carry on. Sometimes, people do nice things just because they want to do nice things."

"Not in my world," she whispered sadly.

"Well, your world's changing."

The young woman looked him desperately and he cut her off before her rebuttal could even leave her lips.

"You know, despite the fact that I talk enough for a small army, I'm actually not that good with words. This is how I show my affection – flamboyancy and grand gesture is the pinnacle of the Stark identity after all.

He was surprised when she smiled at him and didn't rebuke his words; he suspected that it had more to do with her being tired than actually accepting the veracity of what he had just said.

"What do you want to eat?" He asked suddenly.

"Mr Stark –'' she began.

He glared at her.

"Tony," she amended. "I don't need you to wait on me; truly. You're a busy person and no one would think any less of you if you left the injured plebeian to look after herself," she laughed good-naturedly but his face contorted into disgust.

"Do you even realise how many people would consider themselves _lucky_ to be waited on by someone as charming as me?"

"You're impossible…"

"And you're one of the lucky ones!" He squealed in barley contained glee. He brought his hands together, excitedly, causing a loud _clap_ and then looked at her seriously."

"You have a very important decision to make," he informed her morosely.

"What?" she asked quickly, worry and anxiety bubbling to the surface.

"You have to make a life or death decision… a _life-changing_ decision."

Her eyes widened and she waited on bated breath for him to continue.

"You have to decide, and it's not a decision to be taken lightly, what it is that we are going to… eat!"

A beat of silence followed his proclamation.

"Are you serious?!" She bellowed indignantly. She would have punched him square in the chest if she had been able.

"As serious as a heart-attack," he said gravely, clutching the arc reactor where it lay in his chest beneath his shirt.

Her eyes narrowed. "You're hilarious," she deadpanned; and he could tell that she was _not_ impressed.

He smiled mischievously. "Your compliments never cease, but back to what's more pressing, what will it be? I'm starving."

"You don't have to –''

"Okay, I'm going to make this easy for you," he pulled his phone out and sat down next to her, she flinched when he pressed his side against hers but he acted like he hadn't even noticed; though he supposed he was sitting closer than was strictly necessary…

"The world is at our fingertips and it is officially your oyster. What capillary-clotting, calorie-crunching goodness shall we order? Pizza is a classic, though I am a sucker for shawarma…"

"And how is the poor delivery person supposed to circumnavigate a tower with the security of Fort Knox and the impregnability of Alcatraz?"

"When you say such flattering things as that, one can only assume that you're very clearly trying to seduce me."

She scoffed and looked away. Tony smiled earnestly and continued tapping away on his phone.

"So what will it be?"

"I don't mind," she replied tiredly. Tony was about to start arguing with her again when he noticed that she wasn't, in fact, simply being difficult. She looked tired to her bones and it became very obvious that she needed to eat and she needed to sleep – not necessarily even in that order.

"Okay," said Tony. "Just relax here and I'll sort something out."

He got up and walked to the door, tapping furiously on his phone. "Make sure you wrap and elevate that," he said, without looking up from his phone and sounding almost bored. The genius didn't want to encroach on her space more than he already had, especially when she was feeling so unwell – mothering was one thing, but mother _hen-ing_ was a whole other matter entirely.

His plan wasn't much of a plan yet; but the crux of it included him conjuring food from somewhere whilst his younger counterpart slept. He'd then wake her up, make sure she ate, check her ankle and then leave her to sleep again. Simple as that.

Most people would have scorned at the notion, scoffed at the idea and ridiculed the very suggestion of Tony Stark taking care of someone other than himself.

But most people, however, did not know of one of the most crucial components of Tony Stark's character: Tony Stark, for all his exhibitionism and grandeur, was totally incapable of taking care of himself, but more than able to look after those he cared about and wished to protect. He would fight for them fiercely.

Perhaps even to a fault.


End file.
